Angel with a Shotgun
by Black Rose Heart
Summary: Inspired by the song of the title, a gunfight breaks out in southern Italy, and it's up to one person become the angel that hides their wings. Collection of oneshots, some are a little dark. Spamano pairing so far, to be added to as the oneshots add up. T for Romano's language. Human names used.
1. 1: Before you start a war

It had been a quiet day, nothing out of the ordinary. A sweet Mediterranean breeze blew past the picturesque town in southern Italy, as vendors hawked their wares by calling out to friends passing by on bikes. A small boat drifted up and down the coastline, embodying the atmosphere of free-flowing hospitality. However, one aspect of town life was significantly different from what one might imagine.

This was the scene of a battle yet to be.

A shot rang out on the street, followed by screams. The glassy eyes of a debtor stared sightlessly as alliances became known in a public place, guns were drawn and people went down. For this calm seaside town was the strategic location of one of Italy's biggest criminal organizations.

The mafia.

Everyone here knew where their loyalties lay, as the crushing of the fragile infrastructure collapsed as a challenger arose from the masses, one who was hungry for power. As the hierarchy crumbled, so did the buildings as explosives went off, alerting one man down the street at his house, one with dark umber eyes and auburn hair, the permanent fixture of a scowl set on his face.

As the sounds of violence waged war against his eardrums, the calmly collected man walked over to his desk, a large mahogany model that fit perfectly with the deeply stained bookcases filled with centuries old tomes. The handcrafted brass openers served their purpose as he pulled them to reveal a Glock sitting in the drawer. It was carefully drawn out and thrust into a holster along with a few extra packs of bullets.

He took a breath. Normally, he hated this sort of conflict, but over the years he had grown used to them. And boy, did he have years.

It wasn't normal for someone like him to get involved, but it was for a good cause, he rationalized. The current leader was too strong, he needed to be humbled.

But every bullet that pierced the heart of a citizen struck part of him as well. But his path was clear, and had been since that one voice spoke up against the tyrant who controlled the money, the drugs, the people, the supplies, the weapons. A compulsion filled him, one that was shared by so many of the oppressed, partially by himself.

It was time for a new leader, because this one, he knew, was different, He had ideals, rules, limits. And that was what he needed.

What south Italy needed.

A familiar digital ring sounded from his phone, vibrating the device against his leg. Fishing it out, his worn finger pressed the ACCEPT CALL button. "Pronto."

"Lovi? I head there was a fight near your place." The tone was that of a cheerful man, but there was the slightest hint of an edge to his voice. A warning, full of worrisome care, silently hoping that he wasn't about to attempt what was expected.

"I'm fine. Go back to whatever the fuck you were doing." the Italian's tone was full of ice and steel.

"Lovino, I know you-"

"-Antonio, you know why I'm fucking doing this. I'm so goddamn tired of this, I've got to put a fucking stop to it. Got it, bastard?" The words were harsh, but the man at the other end just took a deep breath; he was used to this treatment.

"I can't stop you. I know that.

"Damn right you do. You know how it feels, when everyone wants you to do something."

A sigh. "We all must do things we must. But…be safe, my _tomatino_." A Spanish lilt made the word pull at the other's heartstrings.

"Hell yeah, I will. I'll see you at Feli's for dinner tonight." He flicked a button on the drawer, allowing a secret compartment filled with hand grenades to appear. "Something tells me my place is going to be…unsafe."

"Adiós, mi corazón. Te amo."

In a choked voice, he replied in Italians. "Ti amo."

He clicked the phone shut, strapping a few more dangerous devices into place on his belt, and staring with a determined glance at the streets that would be painted red if he did nothing.

But doing nothing was not on the agenda.

A door opened onto the empty sidewalk. One Italian man strode down the lane, unquestioned by the cowering shop-owners as he walked into the heart of the conflict. It was a role he was born into, doing what the people wanted, saving lives. Destroying was his namesake. An angel, sent to save the innocents.

An angel with a shotgun.

_I'm an angel with a shotgun,_

_Fighting til the war's won._

_I don't care if heaven won't take me back._

* * *

A/N: And that's my oneshot! Inspired by the song Angel with a Shotgun by The Cab, lyrics from the same thing. Another one next chapter because I was indecisive. Same opening, but very different. Review and tell me which one you like best! :D


	2. 2: Better know what you're fighting for

It had been a quiet day, nothing out of the ordinary. A sweet Mediterranean breeze blew past the picturesque town in southern Italy, as vendors hawked their wares by calling out to friends passing by on bikes. A small boat drifted up and down the coastline, embodying the atmosphere of free-flowing hospitality. However, one aspect of town life was significantly different from what one might imagine.

This was the scene of a battle yet to be.

A shot rang out on the street, followed by screams and more gunfire. A nearby family restaurant was caught in the crossfire, the window that had so proudly worn the renowned Vargas name shattered. A young chef yelped, his light brown eyes wide with fear, and ran into the kitchen, attempting to protect himself from the ruthless violence on the street. The customers followed suit, abandoning belongings and half-eaten meals in a flight of terror. Only one was left behind.

His fine white cotton shirt was marred by a dark red stain soiling the left shoulder, a testament to where the first bullet had gone. The man was no stranger to pain, even as he lay on the floor among a scattering of glass shards he breathed deeply to counteract the shock. A cold sweat ran down his tanned face, sun-kissed from years of work outside.

"Antonio, you fucking moron!" A young voice called, as a youth who seemed identical to the one who had fled now ran up to the injured patron. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Hola, Lovi, are you all right?" The Spaniard said, his accent distinct. The semblance of a smile attempted to creep up the corners of his mouth and partially succeeded, if it wasn't for the spikes of fresh agony from his shoulder.

"Damn it, stop being so damn cheerful, start worrying about yourself!" Salty drops ran down the Italian's face.

"I would, but the people come first, yes? I'll live, Lovi. You and I both know that. This is nothing compared to back in the Armada days." At those words, the expression on the Italian's face grew even sadder, remembering the long days of waiting and loneliness, and the Spaniard knew he had said the wrong thing.

"The little fucker who did this, he definitely knows who you are, right?" A cold, hard wave swept across his features, replacing sorrow with determination.

"Lovi, you can't-"

"You're not the boss of me anymore, Antonio! I can do whatever the fuck I want! And I'm going to kill whoever did this to you. He's a danger to all of us, Feli, me, any of the other ones!" His eyes softened and he whispered, "You think I don't feel what he's doing to everyone outside? It hurts, Toni, right here." A hand moved to his chest.

"You don't need to-"

"Why, Antonio? Give me one reason I'm not supposed to do this!" He demanded, a fire lit behind his dark brown irises.

"Because…because…" The other's mind searched for an answer, "Because I don't want to see you hurt either."

A smirk. "I'm not called the home of the mafia for no reason. I'll be fine. Nation-hunting bastards need to be put down."

The injured man closed his eyes. "You really are growing up, Lovi. Not the defenseless colony you used to be."

"Damn right, now let me go get revenge. For you _and_ my people. If it helps, I'll confess the death to Feli after this is all done. He's closer to the Vatican and all." He got up, a hand reaching for the gun he kept by his side. The sunlight caught his hair, shining through it as through it was a holy omen.

"_Un angelo_, for sure, Lovi. Saving the innocents." He commented as the Italian drew his weapon.

"An angel with a shotgun, Antonio." He opened the door and charged out, gun raised and ready to take down whoever stood in his way.

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A/N: Well, one was definitely more Spamano than the other, but I think I did well. Writing oneshots is kind of a new thing for me, since I mostly do long stories. Might expand on them later, but I don't really like dark universes with tragic aspects. Reviews are my fuel ^-^ so feel free to tell me what you think, correct typos and chat about lovely Hetalia pairings!


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